


My Captain

by LianteAkaLia



Category: Guild Wars
Genre: 12 year old boy, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bad Parenting, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Slut Shaming, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7265245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LianteAkaLia/pseuds/LianteAkaLia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say Hope is the last to leave, but when she does the void left behind is more painful than anything else.</p>
<p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>-Crack!-</p>
<p>The lash of the whip came down into the air right next to his head, making the boy flinch and cry out in fear. He desperately pulled at his hands, the rough rope grinding against his skin painfully. He could hear snickers and laughter coming from all around him and tears burned in his eyes, threatening to fall. No. He wouldn’t cry. He refused to cry and give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Captain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote for a roleplay character of mine. It's a backstory piece portraying a part of the abuse he has suffered through out his life and I'd love to share it with you. 
> 
> I hope that this story can be read without having any knowledge about Guild Wars 2 as a game since the story focuses more on the characters and interactions between them rather than the Lore of the world. But if there's anything that's unclear, please do let me know and I'll see what I can do about making it more clear and understandable.

-Crack!-

The lash of the whip came down into the air right next to his head, making the boy flinch and cry out in fear. He desperately pulled at his hands, the rough rope grinding against his skin painfully. He could hear snickers and laughter coming from all around him and tears burned in his eyes, threatening to fall. No. He wouldn’t cry. He refused to cry and give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.

-Crack!-

The end of the whip clashed into the deck, only an inch from his bare foot. He yelped and jumped to the side, but he didn’t get far. The coarse rope around his wrist attached him firmly to the mast, hands stretched above his head.

-Crack!-

Another yelp, and to his dismay, a small sob was forced out of him as the whip struck the wood to his right. He didn’t want to admit it but he was terrified. Ten lashes the Captain had said. Ten lashes of the whip to his back and legs. He had been dragged out on deck, kicking and screaming in defiance and here he was; shivering in fear to the amusement of the crew. He could hear the laughter, the comments, and the bets on how long he’d last before caving once the punishment started.

Heavy footsteps told him that the man holding the whip, the Captain himself, was walking up to him. He could feel the shadow fall over him, giving him a moments respite from the scorching sun as it shone down on his naked body. The faint relief of the shade was short lived and the fear returned in full force when the man traced the leather of the whip down his back.  
  
“What’s it goin’ to be, eh lad? Ye goin’ to say it? Come on now. Be a good little bitch and say it real loud so all my men can hear ye.”

Was he really being given a chance to escape the punishment? A chance to do as he was told… and then what? The crew had smelled blood, that much was clear. They wouldn’t be happy if their entertainment was taken from them. Maybe, just maybe if he said it, his Captain would go easy on him?

No. He couldn’t give in now. He had to stand his ground. If he caved, if they knew, he could just as well give himself to Grenth right away. It would be a kinder fate than losing every shred of his pride and self-respect. His mind made up, he drew in a deep breath before shaking his head, refusing to speak. A second later, his head was bashed against the mast, and another round of laughter erupted.  
  
He leaned heavily against the dry wood, his head spinning and he could feel small splinters catch in his skin. He had to bite into his lip to keep another sob from breaking loose. Home… he wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up in his cot, finding it all just a bad dream. Oh how he missed all of them, the other kids. Freckles, Joey, Lilly, Wheezer and the others. He even missed his father.

A single tear made its way down his cheek at the thought of his father. ‘Papa… ya promised… ya promised…’

 

**********

 

_The sun was setting, signaling the end of yet another day in the bustling port town. From his vantage point in the window sill, he had a good view of the darkened, narrow street. The sun had already dipped below the ramshackle houses in the run down area of Lion’s Arch that he and his father called home._  
  
_The twelve year old boy couldn’t stop smiling as he waited for his father to return home from work. During the last two weeks, he had slowly and tentatively started to look forward to his father coming home. His father, a drunk and a gambler, a man he had tried to avoid for most of his life. A man growing bitter from the loss of his wife, coming to hate and resent their son for surviving the fever when she did not._

_But the winds of change where finally blowing their way, the gods smiling on them. After spending years living on the street, he had braved a visit home, finding his father in tears beside an empty bottle of rum, mourning the loss of his family. He could still remember the smile on his father’s face as he saw him. The remaining rum bottles had been tossed out, his father hugging him for the first time in years. And the promise… the words that had his heart melt._

_“We’ll be a family again. I don’t want to lose you too. I’ll… stop drinking… I won’t gamble. I promise you, son. It’ll be different, better. You and me, like a real family.”_

_He hadn’t dared to believe it at first, but when his father had continued to come home after his shifts at the docks, he slowly started to believe. And two days ago, his father had even taken him to the beach to go swimming. Yesterday he had been working late, but today they would cook dinner together, and his father had promised to tell him a story._

_So he waited, almost giddy with anticipation. He waited. And waited. Minutes turned into an hour, an hour turned into two. He was still sitting in the window, watching the street for any signs of his father. Fear started to grip his small body, countless scenarios played out inside his head. His father being robbed and beaten on his way home? No… it had to be something else. Maybe he had to stay at work, what if his work mates talked him into visiting the tavern, what if he was drunk?_  
  
_Then, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the night. He straightened, deep green eyes watching into the darkness until two... no, four figures rounded a corner, coming towards him. He quickly threw himself off the window ledge, back into the house and pressed himself against the wall. One of those figures was his father. He had never brought people home before, always meeting his so called friends at the tavern or the gambling den he visited._  
  
_He backed away into the house as the handle to the door was turned. His father was drunk. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. When the man entered, he realized just how drunk he actually was. His father stumbled into the room, closely followed by his companions. Two of them looked like thugs, weathered and scarred, the types to rob you in a dark alley. The third however, seemed much more refined, dressed in a fancy leather coat and a golden ring on each finger. His black hair was pulled into a ponytail and when he grinned, a golden tooth could be seen in the otherwise white row of teeth in his mouth._

_Goldtooth gestured for his men to light the few lamps that were scattered around the room. And when they did, the boy could see that his father was bleeding from his nose and eyebrow. He took a few steps back, wanting to go to his papa but he was still standing together with Goldtooth and the boy didn’t dare approach. Instead he tried to catch his father’s gaze, but the man turned his head away. A shaky hand reached out, a finger pointed towards him._

_“There… as promised.”_

_What? What promise? What was going on?! He was shaking now, fear gripping him tightly as Goldtooth turned his amber eyes towards him, taking a few steps closer._

_“So tha’s the boy eh? Skinny. But I can work with skinny. Heh… he almost looks like a lass. Real lil’ bitch aint ‘e?”_

_His eyes went wide as he turned a desperate gaze towards his father. “P-Pa..? Wha’s g-goin’ on?! Wh-who’s ‘e?”_

_His father didn’t answer, still refusing to look at his son. Instead he turned to Goldtooth, his words cold and emotionless, slurred from the alcohol in his system. “I kept my word… now it’s your turn. You get him… and my debts are paid… Right? We’re good?”_

_“P-pa…?! D-Debts..? Wh-wha..?”_

_He backed away again, but one of the thugs had made his way behind him and grabbed his arms, shoving him forward. He squirmed, trying to get free but he was no match for the stronger adult. And thus, he was shoved right up to Goldtooth, the man grinning as he watched him. A hand reached out, fingers running down his cheek, his neck, down over his chest. The touch made him shudder in disgust and a sob escaped him as the hand reached his crotch. Thankfully, it was pulled back quickly, but the nightmare was nowhere near ended. Goldtooth’s hand grabbed his hair, forcing his head up and turned him towards his father._

_“Not yet, Markus. Look at him. Look at yer son and tell him why he’s comin’ with me. Go on… tell ‘im how ye lost every coin ye have. How ye pleaded with me to not send you to the depths! To take yer boy ‘ere and let ye be.”_

_His eyes widened more and more as the man spoke, watching his father with desperation in his eyes. Goldtooth was lying, he had to be. His father couldn’t have… no! He promised it would get better! “P-Pa..? N-No... p-please… d-dun let ‘em take me! P-Please! P-Pa… n-no!”_

_He was holding back tears but as his father finally lifted his eyes to look at him he broke down and cried. There were guilt in those blue eyes. Guilt and shame. But what really made him shiver and cry was the cold indifferent. He may feel guilty, but there was no pain. He didn’t care._

_“Pa! Nooo! P-Please! H-Help, papa, oh g-g-gods p-please help! D-Don’t le-”_

_His head jerked to the side as the only answer to his pleas was a hard slap across his face, making the world spin. When he was able to look up again. His father was looking away from him. A bottle in his hand as he went to sit down at the table, his gaze on the floor and a hand waved dismissively._

_“You… you got what you came for… go. My debt is paid. Take him and go.”_

_Goldtooth grinned widely. “A pleasure doin’ business with ye, Markus. I’ll look after yer… ‘precious’ boy. Oh I’ll look after ‘im alright.”_

_He missed the hungry look sent his way when he was hauled towards the door. He craned his neck as he fought them, screaming and kicking as they pulled him from his home, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Papa! Help! Papa!! Please!!! Ya promised!”_

_His father took a swig from the bottle, ignoring his son’s cries for help. The last thing Eli saw was his father turning his head away before the door slammed shut._

 

_**********_

 

-Crack!-

He was pulled from the memory by a sudden, searing hot pain and a scream tore through the air, drawing laughter from the crowd. The whip had been lashed against the bare skin on his back, his Captain holding nothing back.

-Crack!-

More pain, more screams. Screams, that he realized where coming from his own throat. Screams filled with pain and fear as he desperately pulled against his bindings, trying to free himself. He didn’t know how he could escape it, or even what he’d do if he were to get lose. In his blind panic, the only thing he knew was that he had to get away.

-Crack!-

He squirmed and sobbed, tears streaming down his face. Blinded by them and the pain, he was spared the humiliation of seeing the men laughing at his weakness, amusing themselves with his agony. As he cried, he braced himself for the next strike and tried to keep the nausea at bay. He could feel the tell-tale trickling of blood running down his back. But the strike didn’t come. Instead he could hear the heavy footsteps of his captain again as the man walked around the mast and the tied up boy, looking at him from every angle, a smirk on his face. Even though he was unable to see the expression, he could clearly hear it in his voice.

“Startin’ to regret your decision, bitch? Bet yer regrettin’ it bad. Ye still got seven strikes left ye little bilge rat. If yer thinkin’ this is bad, we’re just getting’ started.” He chuckled, a cold sound without even the slightest trace of mercy.

The boy clenched his eyes shut, trying to halt the tears still flowing from his eyes. He didn’t want to let them see him cry, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. The only thing left to do was to endure.

The sun was high in the sky when the Captain finally let the now bloodstained whip fall to the deck of the ship. Lash after lash had been delivered to the small, defenseless form of the young boy.

He was slumped against the mast, knees bent as he hung from the bindings around his wrists. Blood was flowing from the many cuts caused by the flogger, staining his tanned skin red and dropping onto the wood underneath him.  
  
He was clinging on to his consciousness with everything he had, barely hearing the laughter and the comments from the sailors around him. A command was given, but he paid it no heed, unable to comprehend what was being said through the searing pain. A pain that suddenly flared up when a bucket of sea water was dumped over him. A hoarse cry was torn from his lips, the salty water seeping into his wounds, making them burn. Agony, sheer agony. Just when the pain started to fade, he was drenched in water once more, and this time he didn’t even have the energy to scream.

A hand grabbed his wet, raven black hair, yanking his head back and a shadow fell over his small and crumbling form as his Captain towered over him.

“Say it! Loudly!”

The hand shook his head to bring him out of the near unconscious state he was in, waking him up enough to grasp what was asked of him. As he felt himself awoken, he found himself praying to fall back into the blackness once more. By the gods, he wished he would pass out to escape the torment.

“Go on! Tell ‘em what ye are or I swear I’ll leave ye like this and let everyone of ‘em that want to have their way with ye get their share!”

No escape. There was no escaping it. If he didn’t speak… No, he didn’t even want to think it. He didn’t have a choice. He let out a small sob before whispering. “A wh-whore… I’m a whore…”

“Louder!”

The roar made him flinch and without thinking he screamed as loudly as he could with his raw and hoarse voice. “A whore! I’m a whore! I… I’m a c-c-cock l-lovin’ whore!”

Laughter filled the air around him, lewd comments and suggestions were thrown his way, each one becoming more and more depraved and degrading. Another sob escaped him as the hand in his hair tightened its grip, the man leaning in to run a finger along the boy’s lips.

“And who do ye belong to, lil’ whore?”

He didn’t dare to whisper this time, knowing he would have to face the consequences if he did. “I… I b-belong t’y-ya, C-Captain!”

The man didn’t let him go on. Another harsh yank of his hair pulled his head to the side and far enough back to make his neck burn with pain. But the pain was forgotten and replaced by trepidation when a pair of rough lips was forced upon his own. He squirmed and tugged in a blind panic to get away but the harsh grip of his hair prevented any movement. He was trapped. He tried to squeeze his lips together, but the faintest of touches of the Captain’s hand to his throat let him know what would happen would he not comply.

And so, feeling his dignity and self-respect slowly starting to crumble, he parted his lips, letting the man’s tongue into his mouth. It felt like an eternity before the man pulled away, a satisfied smirk directed down at him and he wanted nothing more than to look away or close his eyes, anything to take his gaze off of his tormentor’s face. But he didn’t dare to do anything but stare up at his tormentor.

“That’s right, whore! Yer mine! About time ye learn yer place ‘round ‘ere.” His voice was filled with the same satisfaction that only grew stronger in his damnable smirk. A wave of his hand to his crew let them know that the show was over, sending them to their stations, leaving him alone with his newly broken toy.

The boy gasped when his head was turned and his cheek was pressed against the warm wood. He could feel his grip on consciousness start to waver as the man pressed his much larger and stronger body against his small one. The friction of the man’s clothes against his torn up back made him whimper in pain and he lowered his head as soon as it was released. He could feel a warm breath against his ear. A soft whisper.

“Who am I?”

There was only one answer.

“My C-Captain… m-my Master…”


End file.
